The Wayward Adventures of Wulpp
by Roronoa Reno
Summary: Wulpp was searat saved by Brome in Martin the Warrior. Brian never stated what happened to him so here is what I think his story would have been...
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, and welcome to the story of Wulpp. The sea-rat who was saved by Brome in the epic tale of _Martin the Warrior_, by Brian Jacques. But they didn't tell what happened to him. So that is were _The Wayward Adventures of Wulpp_, by Roronoa Reno comes in.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wulpp or Redwall... sigh**

**Chapter One**

Salt-encrusted paws sloshed through the frigid waters of the winter sea. The azure sky was blurred out by smoke-colored clouds. The overcast day make the sapphire waters turn a deep gray. Wulpp was a former searat; a wandering traveler attempting to survive in a harsh world. He wasn't really doing a great job counting that he has been tramping through cold water for an entire day and night. Behind him was a column of smoke that reached to the sky, this was Marshank; fortress of mighty timber and stone. It was reduced to rubble and ash by revolting slaves. He only survived thanks to having a friend on the enemies side.

"'onder if 'nyone survived?" Wulpp pondered and talked to himself. He hadn't seen any sign of life since he started his trek over the coastal shores.

Suddenly a thunderous growl came from all around him. He looked around frightened, he had heard tales of fierce creatures with claws and teeth which could bite a rat in half. The noise came again, and Wulpp suddenly realized where it was resonating from. He sighed as his stomach rumbled again, he hadn't eaten in a long time. Then his eyes lighted up when he spied something coming out of the corner of the eyes. A flash of movement in the dark shadows of the underwater sands. _'A fish, finally some food' _the thought shot through his mind as he crept up on the creature. Well... not crept up as much as ran like a madbeast.

With a shout he began jabbing the ground with a spear wildly in an attempt to kill the fish. His spear shaft went through the muck and sand but didn't even come close to stabbing the meal. He resorted to running across the coast and jamming his staff every few seconds as he made a crazed race through the arctic waters. Wulpp felt something under his foot for a split-second, it was slimy, and scaly, and fast in the water. His brain made the connection it was a fish but before he stab his foot to get it. It shot away and flipped him out of the water onto the shore. The fish wasn't as lucky and flew out as well, dying as it hit a hard rock.

Wulpp's head began to throb uncontrollably and nearly fainted, before he picked his body up off off the finely-grained sand. He stumbled over the fish and used the spear and a walking stick as he hobbled over to the fish and held it up triumphantly. The rain began to fall, and the sound of little pitter-patters. While this was happening, poor little Wulpp began to try and make a fire, he smashed flint together over a nest of twigs. He tried for hours as the rain began to poor shouting stuff like:

"Maybe this time,"

"Why won't it work?"

"Soon, there will be a fire soon!"

Soon Wulpp released the stupidness of it all and began to meander over the land instead of the water this time. He was beginning to get the idea that water was cold and wet, and land was dry... and dry. Through the sheets of rain he pushed on, clutching a fish in a death grip as he pushed through. Soon he found a sheltered area, a wooden area that was dry and water proof. It was bare without much as a candle, all that was there was a pile of weapons and a small bench where Wulpp sat down upon and drifted to sleep.

Wulpp woke up with a thud on his head and a bucket of cold water on his face. He shot up and his paw grasped empty air where his spear should have been. When he woke up, his vision was blurred and it took a few minutes to realize who woke him.

"'Ah me 'earty, if it isn't 'ulpp, me ol' messmate," Said a thunderous voice coming from a fat stoat with a empty bucket in one hand, and a shovel in another.

"Capt' Clogg, 'hat you doin' 'ere?"

"'his is Fort Clogg where ye' bunked up!"

Wulpp gasped as he walked out of his quarters and examined the fort. It was in a state of disrepair and most of it was a pile of slime and soot. This was fort Marshank, but there was skeletons of his former messmates and freshly dug graves all around it. It seems that Captain Truman Josiah Cuttlefish Clogg had been quite busy lately. Yet what made his blood run cold was the fact that manned on the ragged walls where rats, clad in pirate gear.

"'ell me matey, do ye' like?" Questioned Clogg as he stuck his shovel in the mud and began to dig.

"This grave 'ill be for Ashcoat, poor ol' matey died of a spear,"

Wulpp shuttered and suppressed a whimper, boy was he in a pickle. Here he was with his insane former captain, in a shattered fort manned by an army of violent looking corsairs armed to the teeth and ready to kill. If he was lucky, Wulpp wouldn't be a costumer for Clogg's Grave-digging Business.

**TO BE COUNTINUED**

**Thanks for reading, please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Jade TeaLeaf: Thank you for the complement, and Wulpp is someone who I always wondered about myself. About Wulpp returning to Marshank, when it started out rain he headed inland and traveled on dry land, and probably found a shortcut back without knowing about it.**

**When we last left Wulpp, the poor rat had found his way into Marshank now run by Captain Truman Josiah Cuttlefish Clogg, who apparently now has an army of corsairs.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Redwall... *Goes to cry in a corner***

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**Chapter Two**

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_'Shovel in, push down, shovel out, shovel in, push...' _This simple pattern repeat through the brain of Wulpp the rat. In his hand he clutched a wooden shovel. Sand, dirt, and mud piled up around him as Wulpp dug. Captain Clogg had said he was just going to temporarily help him, and it was just going to be simple corsair work. Wulpp didn't have any choice seeing that an arrow was being pointed at his spinal cord. It also seemed that Clogg lied, even Wulpp could tell that he was going to be there a long time. He had never dug any grave as a privateer, and he certainly never dug one with a willow cane shattering his back. It didn't help the fact that the warm, welcoming sun had turned into a scorching scourge of the arid coast. The skeleton of Boggs seemed to mock him as he continued to toil.

* * *

**(A few hours later)**

* * *

_'Shovel in... push down... shovel out...' _Progress was going by slowly, and at this rate Boggs would get his grave in... possibly a few days. That was nothing to champion gravedigger Truman Josiah Cuttlefish Clogg, the stoat had already buried a three vermin and was halfway done with another.

"Work faster you lily-livered slime," Shouted a rat with a willow cane.

_'Shoveinpushdownshoveloutshovelinpushdownshovelout' _Suddenly the shovel had become a blur and sand was sailing out of the hole. It might have been caused by the annihilated back of Wulpp, caused by the staff. Or it could be the fact that Wulpp had been digging for several hours, or the fact he is dehydrated and starving. Either way, he wasn't to fond of digging and found he liked crashing through the shallows of the frigid, winter sea. He didn't like the corsairs who decided they liked to whip him. By the use of careful listening, he found that they were the searats of the ship, _Cutlass_, which was obliterated on the shoreline. They found Marshank and got mistaken for his former crew by the crazed Clogg. They settled at Marshank and secretly were taking orders from the weasel Oilpaw, who Truman called Boggs.

The feeling that Clogg had no power here, but thought he did was enlightening, but not helpful to the fact he was stuck at Mar... Fort "Clogg" as the captain affectionately called it. Wulpp remembered never to call Marshank by its name. The last time he attempted that stunt, a stout shovel had found the way to his cranium, and soon a rosy-colored lump was rising from his head like a cake in the oven. Clogg's eyes looked like two orbs of crimson flame when he harshly informed him that it was Fort Clogg.

"How Badrang 'ould object," Snickered Wulpp before a whip came out of the shadows and obliterated his back area.

"No talking scum, or we'll get a nice fresh grave dug for ya'" Rasped a voice that resembled that of a weasel, or a fox.

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**(That nightfall)**

* * *

The melody of crickets echoed throughout the thick walls of the slave compound. In a ragged bed... well no creature would ever call it a bed, more like a bunch of twine knotted together to form a rough hammock-like structure. Despite its rough crafting, it seemed to last out the fire better then most of the fortress did. The frigid, arctic winds blew through the creaking timber logs, causing poor Wulpp to toss and turn in the bed-like creation. In the "sleeping quarters" were few creatures, a few woodlanders and vermin who thought the area was safe and abandoned like Wulpp.

Many things criss-crossed the rats mind, such as how it could be so cold in the morning, and night, yet so hot in the middle of the day. How could this region, even if it's very arid, could make it so hot in the winter? Wulpp attempted to shove these things to the back of his mind, welcoming the deep, inky darkness as it crept through his vision, beckoning him to the land of dreams. Suddenly, a matted paw thrust him out of his bed, and suddenly, he was being dragged and tossed against the iron bars that made up one wall of the compound. Surrounding him were corsairs, all with a sinister gleam in there eyes. A brave otter attempted to save him, but a fox send a devastating kick from his powerful hind-legs that sent the otter sprawling. Then as if all of the sudden, the throngs parted and let one powerful looking rat step through. In his huge paws was a brass dagger, gleaming in the pale moonlight which fluttered through the windows. It almost looked hungry the rip into his flesh. In a thunderous, baritone voice he began speaking.

"'Ello matey, me names Fleajaw, 'ut capt' calls me Wulpp... so I hav' to kill ya' to keep our cover, ya' know?" He chuckled and raised the blade over Wulpp's heart.

Wulpp's head bobbed like there was no tomorrow, then it froze for a few seconds. It began to slowly shake, like as if to say he didn't know why he was going to die. With a heavy sigh, the rat continued to speak. But the blade remained hovering in the air, in a death-grip.

"Wel' I'm Fleajaw, but Capt' likes I'm Wulpp. So wit' you bein' Wulpp, and me bein' Wulpp. Yet you are te true Wulpp. I hav' ta kil' ya ta make sure I can be you, and you stop bein' you. So I kin remain you in da Capt's eye to stay in... Fort Clogg, oka'?"

Wulpp's brain was hurting, but he kept shaking his head. Fleajaw sighed mumbled under his breath,

"Let's git' this ova' wit!"

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**Well, that is all for now. Join us next time to see how Wulpp is going to get out of this predicament. This is Roronoa Reno, signing off!**

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